


Grocery Shopping

by littlemissvincentvega



Series: Freddy's Struggle [1]
Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Awkward Crush, Awkward Flirting, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Grocery Shopping, Grocery Store, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 14:37:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18251855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemissvincentvega/pseuds/littlemissvincentvega
Summary: you and Mr. Orange have been instructed to go grocery shopping with one another-- after getting back, you're also expected to cook dinner for everyone!





	Grocery Shopping

“Do you believe in true love?”

Distracted, you carry on scrutinising the carton of eggs. “Hm?”

You and your colleague had been ordered by Joe Cabot to fetch the week’s grocery shopping - the group of criminals (along with you) are being made to live with each other in a rented apartment to get used to each other, you being the caterer, so to speak.

He takes the eggs off of you and places them in the shopping trolley ( ~~cart for you american dudes~~ ). You look up at him. “I was checking the date on those!” you protest, pushing the trolley down the aisle. “What did you ask, anyway?”

You stop at the milk section as he trails after you. “I-I said, do you believe in true love?” he says timidly.

“Sure I do, carrot boy,” you smile, grabbing a carton and checking the use by date, “do you?”

He shrugs. “Guess so.” Looking slightly stoned, Orange slinks down the aisle, and you trail after him, still clutching the milk carton.

“Why were you asking?” you say, walking alongside him. 

He puts the milk in the trolley for you and smiles shiftily. “I dunno, I was just wondering, Miss Violet. Are we getting cereal yet?”

“Sure,” you giggle, heading to the cereal aisle. “Go crazy, Joe’s the one paying.”

He runs to find the Fruit Brutes like a bull at a gate, and you can’t help but laugh at how excited he seems. The tough-looking guy grabs three boxes, drops them into the trolley and blushes when he realises what you’re finding so amusing. “Yeah, yeah, keep laughin’,” he chuckles.

“No, it’s sweet.”

Orange glances at you and smiles to himself, walking a tad more cockily than usual. “Thanks, m’lady.” 

“You got the shopping list?”

He stops and turns to you. “No, I thought you had the list?”

“I thought  _you_ had the list!”

 

He smiles an awkward  _‘oops!’_ kind of smile. “Guess we’ll just have to wing it then,” he says, swaggering down the aisle and tripping over his own foot - he goes down like a sack of shit. You gasp, bursting into a fit of giggles.

“I’m sorry, oh my god!” you cry, scuttling over to him and offering a hand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” he says, cheeks flushed with embarrassment but still smiling.

You help him up, still giggling. “I’m so sorry, I just– that was so fuckin’ funny,” you titter, doing your best to resist laughing at him any more - judging by the flustered look on his face, he really was very embarrassed. Feeling sorry for him, you attempt to keep a straight face, and give him a sympathetic smile.

“You’re gonna get it one of these days, Violet,” he jokes, pretending to shoot you, trying to laugh it off. 

The two of you take turns in pushing the trolley and shop for a good hour and a half - both of you are desperate to stall the trip to spend more time together, though neither of you will admit it to the other. 

Orange checks his watch as you both stand at the checkout. “Jesus, it’s nearly four,” he remarks, leaning against the counter. You smile at the cashier, who is scanning your groceries. “Is it really? Christ,” you say, “how long’ve we been here?”

“Nearly two hours.”

You puff and blow. “That’s $84.60 please, sir,” the cashier says, looking at Orange. He smiles at her and pays with Joe’s card, smirking at you as he does so. You reload the shopping trolley and, when he’s finished paying, head out of the store.

Nice Guy Eddie had kindly handed you over the keys to his gorgeous ‘66 Cadillac Coupe DeVille. Orange helps you stuff the shopping in the trunk and the two of you get in the car. “You want me to drive?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“It’s not your job,” you say, smiling at him. “I just wanna sit for a minute, my legs are aching now.” As you pull out a pack of Red Apples, he instinctively whips out a lighter. You pop a cig between your lips and he leans forward with a smile, lighting it for you.

“Is it okay, I mean– would you mind if I have one of those?”

You pass him the pack in response and watch him light his cigarette. “So,” he says, puffing away, “what do you think of the other guys?”

Contemplating for a second, you smirk. “They’re alright.”

“Just alright?”

“Well I mean, there’s not much to say yet, is there? We only just met.”

“I s’pose so,” he sighs, taking a long drag. He looks at you sheepishly. “What about me?”

You grin at the man-child. “You’re funny.”

“Funny?”

“Yes, Mr. Orange,” you giggle, rolling the window down for some fresh air, “funny. What about you? What d’you think of the guys?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, I like ‘em.”

“W-” you begin, interrupted by your phone ringing. You pick up. “Hello? Violet here.”

The familiar, kind voice of Eddie comes through. “Hey honey, I just wanted to check if you’re nearly done shopping? We’re starvin’ and there’s nothin’ to eat.”

“Yeah, sorry Eddie, we just got back in the car a few minutes ago, my legs are aching.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that, darlin’. Take your time, okay?”

“Thank you, Eddie,” you smile, “won’t be long now.”

“Okay, see you soon sweetie.”

“Bye bye!” You hang up and put away the chunky phone.

“Who was it?” asks Orange, still puffing away.

“Eddie. The guys are starving, he said.” 

Starting the engine, you put your seat belt on and, holding the cig between two fingers, drive out of the parking lot. Orange turns the radio on as you drive away from the grocery store. He switches it to K-Billy’s ‘Super Sounds of the 70′s’. “Blonde showed a few of us this. It’s uh, pretty cool,” he says, leaning his elbow out of the car window. 

You giggle, glancing at him. “Pretty cool, yeah.”

The rest of the car journey was fairly uneventful and quiet, though it was only about ten minutes at most. You pull up in the parking lot of the apartment complex and step out of the car. “Help me carry the bags?” you smile.

“Of course,” he says, running to the trunk and grabbing about 5 bags at once. You giggle at him struggling.

“Orange, you really don’t have to–”

 _“SHIT!”_ he hisses, dropping the bag full of cereal on the ground, the contents spilling out everywhere.

“Well done, you’ve ripped the bag,” you say, bending over to pick it up (little to your knowledge he’s having a quick glance at your ass).

“Sorry, Violet,” he says sheepishly, arms full of groceries.

“I’m only messing,” you grin, grabbing the remaining bag from the trunk before yanking it shut and locking the car. “C’mon, they’ll be waiting.”

The two of you hurry inside to the elevator - apartment no. 28, on the second floor. Orange admires you secretly as you stand in comfortable silence, clutching the bulging grocery bags. Shortly, the doors open, and you nearly drop the shopping as Pink is pacing the space in front. “Jesus, Pink, I nearly shit myself then!”

“We’re fuckin’ starvin’ here, gimme that!” he growls, snatching one of the bags from Orange and stamping into the apartment like an angry toddler.

You and Orange share a look of ‘ _he needs to fucking chill’_  before following the irked criminal, kicking the door shut behind you. Placing all of the grocery bags on the counter top, you sigh and begin unpacking them. Eddie, noticing your arrival, walks over to you both. “Pink, take a fuckin’ chill pill, huh?” he smirks, helping you unpack.

“Sorry we took so long, Eddie,” you apologise, throwing a tired smile his way.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart, I just hope you’ve bought somethin’ nice,” he says warmly, “which I can see is very true!” He pulls out a large bottle of vodka, grinning.

“Yeah, I picked that up in case of emergency…” Orange coughs.

“Emergency?” you scoff.

“In case we get bored?”

Eddie stops unpacking and blinks at Orange. “Is that what an emergency is to you?” You stand giggling at them both.

Orange shrugs. “I dunno, my intuition told me to buy some booze, so we did.”

“Christ, Orange, how much did you get?” Eddie huffs, pulling out three more bottles.

“He, uh– had a tumble in the store, might have something to do with it,” you giggle, feeling slightly guilty as Orange looks daggers at you. “Sorry, tango man.”

“I’d prefer tiger, but okay,” he mutters, shoving some veg in the fridge and sulking.

Blonde senses the bickering and slinks over to the kitchen. He stands in the doorway. “You took your time, didn’t you?” he smirks, studying you all. He spies the alcohol and makes a beeline for it. You roll your eyes and pass him a glass. 

“Put some ice in that,” you advise, sliding the whiskey across the table to him.

“Thank you, doll.”

The moment Blonde opens the bottle, Pink storms in. “Nobody told me there was booze!” he splutters.

“No one had the chance,” Orange murmurs, putting the food away quietly.

“Fuck you.” Pink says, scowling. “Pass me a glass, Violet?”

“Magic word, Mr. Pink?”

He rolls his eyes. “Please?”

“That’s a good boy,” you titter, sliding him a glass.

“I’m not a fuckin’ dog, fuck you.”

Eddie steps forward, looking offended. “Jesus, Pink, who shoved a stick up your ass?” he says. “Be kind to our Miss Violet!”

“Christ Eddie, I was kidding, back off, will you?”

Blonde drops a few ice cubes in his and Pink’s glasses before pouring some whiskey in them both - how he managed to look cool as a cucumber doing literally anything was beyond you. He sits down to watch the little show, a vague smirk plastered across his face. “I’m just sayin’ respect the lovely lady!” Eddie threatens, half joking, half serious.

“Yeah, she’s just been out shoppin’ for all of us so shut the fuck up and be grateful,” says Orange, puffing on his cigarette in the corner. He’s leaning against the counter top, frowning at Blonde and Pink.

“Is this respectful ‘nuff for ya, asshole?” Blonde says, taking your hand and kissing the back of it softly. “Thank you, beautiful.”

“It’s okay,” you giggle, blushing and curtsying.

Orange scoffs. “Piss take.”

“Fuck you, I’m goin’ in there, c’mon Pink.”

The two of them saunter into the living room and Orange lets out an annoyed sigh. “Honestly, they behave like fuckin’ children sometimes. Don’t let ‘em get to you,” Eddie says to him, and you nod in agreement.

“Okay.”

“Be right back,” you say, smiling reassuringly at Orange and heading to the living room. “I’m doing bacon and eggs for you guys, is that okay?”

A murmur of yeses fill the room, all eyes glued to the TV - the only one that looks at you is Mr. White, being the gentleman he is. As you’re about to turn around, Mr. Brown’s head pops up from the armchair. “Miss Violet, can you make my bacon crispy, pretty please?” he asks, giving you puppy dog eyes. You giggle and nod. “Of course, Brown. And for being so polite, you’ll get your food first.”

The other guys whip their heads around hearing this, Pink jumping to his feet. “That’s not fuckin’ fair though!”

“I think you’ll find it is, Pink,” White says.

“But–”

“That poor lady has slaved her ass off the past couple’a hours buying food for  _us_ so that  _we_  can eat, so leave her alone for Chrissake,” he interrupts sternly, winking at you. You smile in response and go back to the kitchen, where Mr. Orange is looking reasonably calmer than before.

“You look happier,” you say, laying as many rashes of bacon as you can fit in the pan and cracking some eggs in the other one.

“Yeah, well, they’ve fucked off now.” He takes off his leather jacket and drapes it over the back of one of the dining chairs. “You want me to help with that?” he asks, gesturing to the eggs. 

“No, you’re fine.”

He ignores you and stands beside you, watching the eggs. “It’s just Pink, he needs to learn some fuckin’ manners.”

“It’s fine, I’m sure he was joking. He’s an idiot,” you smile. “Eddie, would you be a dear and get some plates out?”

“Sure thing, honey,” he answers, clattering them about in the cupboard and placing them carefully on the table.

“Thanks,” you say, smiling at him. 

“Hey, I’m gonna join the guys, that okay with you?”

You nod. “I’ll bring it in to you, it won’t be long.”

“Thanks, sweetie,” he says, leaving the room.

“How’d you like yours?”

“Hm?”

“How’d you like your bacon?” you chuckle, looking up at Orange.

He smiles. “Oh, uhh– normal? Crispy, I think?”

“You think?”

“You put me on the spot!” he giggles, his eyes twinkling.

You press down on the bacon with the spatula, the sizzles echoing through the kitchen pleasantly. “I’m doing yours and Brown’s first, then White’s and Eddie’s.”

“What, are we special or somethin’?”

“Just a bit,” you smile, turning the bacon over. You see him from the corner of your eye biting back a grin as he shuffles over to the cutlery drawer and grabs a few knives and forks to take to the living room.

“Hold on, I’m gonna ask who wants toast with me,” he says, heading out of the kitchen. Blushing to yourself, you chuckle as you hear him asking the guys,  _“Hey assholes, who wants toast?”_

He returns a short minute later, slinging bread in the toaster. “Pink, Blonde, Brown, Eddie and me. You want some, Violet?”

“I’m good, thanks. I turned the eggs over for you, they should be ready now.”

He slides them onto two of the plates and cracks another couple into the pan. “We make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

“I s’pose so,” you smile, not taking your eyes off of the bacon. He leans on the counter beside you, watching the food intently. As you decide it’s cooked, you scoop it onto the plates (making sure Orange gets a little bit more) and, as the toast pops up from the toaster, he darts over before you can. “I don’t want you to burn yourself,” he says, carefully removing them from the toaster and dropping them onto the plates. He cuts them into triangles and wipes a blob of butter on each slice. “Voila,” he grins, looking extremely pleased with himself.

“Impressive,” you giggle, laying more strips of bacon in the pan, “would you be a darling and take Brown’s in with you? My hands are tied.”

“Of course. Thanks, Violet,” Orange says, taking Brown’s dinner to him.

“Thank you, Miss Violet!” Brown yells from the living room, making you chuckle.

“S’okay!” you yell back. As you turn from the bacon, you suddenly remember the orange juice and totter to the fridge to fetch it, along with a few glasses. You head to the living room, hands full, and nearly slam face-first into Mr. Orange’s chest - he’s on his way back to the kitchen. “Oh, sorry Orange - did you forget something?”

“No, I was gonna come back to help.”

“You don’t need to do that!” you protest, but he ignores you and goes to the kitchen anyway. “Here, sweetheart, I forgot to bring you a drink, is OJ okay?” you ask Brown, who’s very happily chewing on some bacon. “Oh, yes please, thank you!” he says, his eyes lit up as he fist bumps you.

You smile, tired, and return to the kitchen to find Orange tending to the food - he’s eating his dinner while cooking everyone else’s, and you can’t help but blush and smile giddily. “Let me do that, it’s really not your job,” you plead, gently taking the spatula off him, your hands grazing.

“I’ll do the toast instead, you shouldn’t be doin’ this all by yourself.”

“You’re a gentleman, carrot boy.”

After about fifteen minutes, the two of you had managed to serve up all of the guys’ dinners, with no complaints (unless you counted Pink accusing Blonde of having more egg than him). When you finally sit down on the couch, it’s bliss - after a long day of being introduced to the group, going grocery shopping for all that time and cooking everyone’s dinner, you were glad to finally be able to relax. Orange squeezes himself beside you (it’s a tight fit, seven guys with two couches and an armchair) and the two of you are the last to finish eating. 

You stand up, collecting everyone’s plates, and White helps you carry them to the kitchen. “I’ll clean them later,” you say to him, “I wanna just rest for now.”

“I don’t blame you, honey,” he says kindly, “a well deserved rest.”

Smiling at him, you return to your seat between Orange and Blonde, Blonde’s arm draped over the back of the couch. The curtains are shut and with no lamps on, the glare of the TV is the only source of light. It’s warm but not too warm - to you, right now, the room carries a content energy. 

“Quit nudging me, Blondie,” Pink grunts.

And… the moment’s gone. “I ain’t nudgin’ you, Mr. Pussy, shut up,” Blonde growls next to you, shuffling in his seat.

Eddie looks over from the other couch. “Hey, shut up you two, I can’t hear the fuckin’ TV.”

You and Orange share a look again and consequently grin at each other. “Oooooh, what’re you two smiling at?” Brown titters from the armchair - he looks like he’s being swallowed by it. Orange opens his mouth to retort, but before he can, Eddie shushes everyone. You flip Brown off lazily from across the room and continue watching TV, your eyelids drooping. 

It doesn’t take long for the sound of the television to become a hazy, distant blur in your ears, and your head drops softly onto Orange’s arm. He flinches, biting back a smile, and carefully snakes his arm around you. Half asleep, you cuddle up to him - the faint smell of musky aftershave and his last cigarette lingers on his shirt. 

Unbeknown to you, a couple of hours pass and you’re awakened by a gentle poke on your shoulder. “Hey, sweetie?” you hear Eddie whisper.

“Hm?” you mumble, still half asleep.

You feel Orange fidget and he yawns. “What time’s it?” he asks Eddie.

“Nearly eight, I thought I should wake you both or you won’t sleep tonight.”

“Oh, thank you Eddie,” you smile sleepily, sitting upright. Looking around, you see Mr. Brown, still in his armchair, fast asleep, mouth open and snoring. “How long’s he been gone?” you giggle, pointing at Brown.

“Not long. We wouldn’t let him watch this serial killer documentary that was on, so he sulked and fell asleep.”

“Surprised Pink didn’t wake you, Violet, he went fuckin’ mental,” White says from the other couch. You look across at Mr. Pink, expecting him to argue, but he’s fast asleep, mouth hanging open like Brown. “Yeah, we didn’t think wakin’ ‘em would be the best idea… they were fuckin’ everyone off.”

Smiling, you lift yourself off of the couch. “Yeah, I can’t for the life of me see why,” you wink, shuffling to the door. “Anyone want a drink?”

White is the only one that responds. “Would you bring me a coffee? Lots’a cream, lots’a sugar?”

“No problem,” you smile, going to the kitchen, closely followed by Mr. Orange. Blonde’s leaning against the counters and smoking. He watches the two of you enter, cig hanging between his lips. “Been gettin’ your beauty sleep?” he smirks.

“I hope so,” you say, putting the kettle on. “D’you want anything?”

He chuckles in his gruff voice. “I can name a few things.”

“Behave yourself!”

“Just kiddin’ around, honey. No, I’m good for now.”

“You gonna give me one of those or what?” Orange huffs, putting his hand out for one of Blonde’s cigs.

“Hey, I paid good money for these.” He passes him one anyway.

“What about me?” you smile.

“Since it’s you, sweetness,” Blonde smirks. You let him pop one between your lips and light it for you.

“Thanks.”

Orange lights his own and grabs two mugs out of the cupboard. “I’ll make them, Violet.”

Blonde studies him carefully, reading him. The three of you smoke in silence. As the kettle begins whistling, you cringe and both you and Mr. Blonde watch Orange make the coffees - one for himself, one for White. “You should be a barista, not a dealer,” you giggle and he turns around and smiles sweetly.

“If I was a barista, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

You smile. “I guess not.”

He leaves you and Blonde alone in the kitchen and returns to the living room. “White, your coffee’s here.”

White stands up and takes it off of him. “Thanks, kid. Hey, come outside with me, I need some fresh air.” Orange nods and the two guys make their way onto the balcony. “What’s your deal with Miss Violet then?”

“Huh?”

White sips on his coffee. “You like her.”

“You been talkin’ to Blonde?” Orange scoffs, getting visibly flustered.

“No, kid, calm down. That guy’s a fuckin’ nimrod. I can just tell.”

“I-I don’t  _like_  her, I mean I– I like her, obviously, but I mean I–”

“Christ, Orange, you been snortin’ somethin’? Chill out!”

Orange chuckles nervously. “Sorry.”

“She likes you.”

“Uh…okay? Where’ve you got that from?”

“I. Can. Tell! And you should go for it, kid!”

Orange takes a long sip from his coffee. He screws up his face a little. “No… we’re supposed to be professional, I mean can you imagine what Pink’d say?”

“Oh, don’t worry about him, I’ll sort his ass out. He’s the least fuckin’ professional one here if you ask me,” White chuckles, looking at Pink through the window in the door - he’s ranting at Brown about something on the television, pointing at it and looking irate (but what’s new?). “Anyway, I’m goin’ back in. It’s cold. You comin’?”

“Nah,” Orange says, pulling a pack of Red Apples from his jeans pocket and popping a cig in his mouth. As White smiles at him and returns inside, Orange sighs and lights his cigarette, taking a long, thoughtful drag. Of course he wasn’t going to make a move… that’d be too dangerous… right?

**Author's Note:**

> i hope this is okay! it was supposed to be short but i don’t stick to anything so it looks like there’ll be a part 2 but idk. i’m pleased with this though, i was worried about writing for freddy!!! ♥


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